


A love letter to you

by beneaththeskin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Oikawa POV, Past Character Death, beware of triggers please, cryptic, do not read if you are triggered by descriptions of non-con, seriously please take care of yourself, there's many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneaththeskin/pseuds/beneaththeskin





	A love letter to you

I click the door shut.

And I walk.

And I walk.

My eyes stop on the stairs under my feet that I once lied across, the steps digging into my back. The fingers I ran over my shirt, every pull stinging. I thought you wouldn’t come down the stairs but you did. I pulled up the hem of my shirt for you. I don’t remember your reaction, seeing it littered with cuts. Nor what you thought of the drink in my cup on a step below. I only remember you making me laugh, not even how, and listening to your steps go back up the stairs, the hallway door creak open and creak shut.

And I walk.

I think of you downstairs, lying against me under the blanket. I remember laying my arm over it to keep you safe. I remember you taking my arm and pulling it under the blanket against your stomach and under your own. You were warm. I didn’t want to feel skin on skin, it was too close, but I did. I was more scared for you than I was of you.

And I walk.

And I walk outside. The frost hits my bare skin immediately, making me shiver with cold.

I’d rather shiver with the cold than _it._

And I walk under the street lights.

I’m reminded of you on my bed, and me on my chair. How the phrase kept repeating in my head. _Can I bother you with something?_ I couldn’t even stand up and go to the bed in fear of making you uncomfortable. Then I know you had to leave soon so I stopped thinking. I remember sitting on the bed, behind you. I don’t remember all the anxious words that flowed out of my mouth while asking if I can even ask you this. _Can I bother you with something?_ And you let me lay my head on your lap, and your hand was instantly on my shoulder. I remember your fingers in my hair, and I remember never wanting you to leave. So I said that you probably have to go.

And you did.

And I walk.

I’m not sure where I am. I grab fistfuls of snow and squeeze them between my fingers, knowing the sharp cold could make me lose them.

Who needs fingers.

I’m surprised I have enough body heat to make some of it melt. Drip-drip.

I remember sitting in the shower, naked. If I remembered, I could tell you if there were tears. I remember you asking something from behind the door. I don’t remember if I answered. I remember you standing in the doorway, the hot water running down my face. You complimented my body, my chest. And I liked it, ‘cause I know you didn’t mean it sexually. You helped dry and put me to bed.

I remember lying in the shower, naked.

I want to be sick.

I remember __ in me. I see myself holding onto the sink. I don’t know if I ever looked in the mirror. I looked in that same mirror so many times before. So many times after. I see my blood run down that sink. I smell the iron. The warm rivulets down my hand stick in between my fingers. I make more come out so I can press a handprint on that mirror. I want it to look like a murder scene. Drip-drip.

I lean down to grab more handfuls of snow and smear them over my arms.

They feel warm.

Drip-drip.

I feel __ grind __’s crotch on my hip. I feel my teeth sink into my arm. I feel __’s teeth sink into my chest. I see my teeth sink into __’s crotch. I feel __’s fingers on me. I feel __’s fingers in me. I feel __ in me. And I remember __ walking out and telling me to continue. I remember getting off. I remember being glad that it was when I was alone. One thing I managed to keep, that no one has ever been a part of. Except me.

And I walk.

I walk in between people partying, in heavy coats. I don’t look at their faces.

I remember grinding on you in bed, feeling so close to you. My leg between yours, my chest against yours. I remember feeling you excited through your clothes, wanting to make you feel good. Kissing up your neck, feeling giddy about leaving marks on you. I remember I liked how you sounded, but I don’t remember how you sounded. I remember you another time, playfully straddling me. And you looked into my eyes, and I looked back, and you slowly raised yourself off me. _You’re uncomfortable._ I don’t even remember if I was. I don’t know what you saw in my eyes. And then I remember you under the covers, behind me but not touching. _You’re shivering. You’re not cold, are you?_ I wasn’t. You thought maybe it’s because this time we’re not high.

My head aches, so I make myself walk farther.

The farther I walk, the farther the way back when my feet finally stop carrying my weight.

I feel skin against my nose, and I can’t swallow. It’s not a new sensation. I’ve felt it before. Why does it smell so sickening. I can feel my own saliva around my mouth. _It’s not safe._ There is no answer. I remember my monotone voice. ___ don’t like condoms?_ I don’t remember the answer, if there was one. It sticks to my chin. _Where do you want it?_ Where. _I’ve never had a facial._ Where. Wherever, as long as not in me. I remember my cheek feeling sickeningly warm and slick.

And I walk.

I walk, yet I remember myself on the floor, in my underwear. I remember embers digging into my forearm. A piece of it falls on there, still glowing. I stare at it blankly. I remember wailing into my forearms, tearing into my hair. You kissed at my hair. _I love you_. At my shoulder. _I love you_. Down my arm. _I love you_. Those whispers are forever seared into my memory. I don’t remember if you carried me to the bedroom or not, and I will never know.

I’ll never be able to ask you.

_You’re not here anymore._

I will forever remember your name. Every time someone says it, not even about you, I remember. I still talk to you, though it doesn’t reach. I don’t remember you wrapping your arm around me half-asleep to try keep me warm, and by the time I was conscious it was not there. Now I will never know what it feels like to be held by you. I remember telling you about this prompt I came across. _If you were fatally wounded and knew you only had a minute left to live, and you were lying beside your phone – who would you call?_ I remember telling you I didn’t even have to think. For me it wasn’t a choice.

Now I can’t.

I sink into the snow and lie back, stretching my arms out through it. My breaths puff out like thick smoke under the street lights.

I remember blowing hookah smoke at you, blasting music from my laptop. I remember first starting to practice blowing rings of smoke. I tried and I tried. I tried constricting my throat, knowing I have good control of my muscles. At one point I was just able to do it, then another point I lost my flow. I don’t remember how, but we ended up in front of the screen, messing around with the camera. We experimented with angles, leaning in close with my lungs full of smoke, opening my mouth to freely, slowly, let it flow out, you trying to catch it into your lungs. I remember us laughing psychotically. I remember tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

The cold steeps deep into my bones.

I close my eyes.

The feeling of being blindfolded washes over me. I remember being on my knees, eating you out, arm around your thigh. I remember trying to relax into it, but your hand squeezing mine over your thigh seemed more anxious than in pleasure. I remember your partner removing my blindfold, but leaving yours. I feel anxiety washing over me like a harsh wave at that. He pushed his dick into my mouth a couple of times. I felt dirty, because I didn’t know if that had been prediscussed between you, if you would have been okay with it, had you known. I remember violently shivering under the restraints, so glad that the jerks from being beaten intermingled with it, so it didn’t show. I liked how careful you were while prying the candle wax off my naked skin with a butter knife.

I get up, not entirely sure why.

I remember violently shivering on the kitchen floor, restraining my arm between my thighs so it would stay even vaguely still, holding a knife in my fist. I remember trying to figure out where the two bones are so I wouldn’t hit them instead. I wanted to hit through. I called you instead. You were pissed that I had just left your room less than a half hour ago, but you invited me back. You watched over me while I struggled to fall asleep.

I walk, one foot in front of the other in the snow, turning back.

I remember sitting on another bathroom floor, covered in blood. Eventually I hear you softly behind the door, wondering where I had gone. I think I gave you a warning before I let you in. I sit there, head turned down. I try to push myself up but waver. You ask if I need help standing. I say I can handle it. I remember you washing the floor of my blood, while I washed my hand of it. I remember you tying my arm in a bandage. Nobody had ever done that before, and nobody ever did that after. Except two ER nurses, and my GP’s nurse.

The street is empty. I almost can’t feel my arms.

I remember being held in your arms in my bed, trying to watch a scary movie. I more heard, than watched it, but it was okay, as I was tucked under your chin. I was safe. I remember melding into your hold. I had never spooned with anyone before, but I felt like I’d always known this, yet I hadn’t. You made it feel so natural and cozy. Your heartbeat was so steady, comforting. Once when we were blasted, you tried to coil your hand under my shirt but I didn’t let you. You didn’t even remember it in the morning but were still sorry, so it didn’t taint this.

I’m back in where there was a crowd, but the streets are dead now.

I remember looking into your eyes when tears fell from them, and I didn’t think anything could hurt this much. I’d never felt so helpless. Your partner walked up to you, not knowing they had caused it, and wrapped their arms around your shoulders from behind. Your eyes never left me, and I kept almost desperately squeezing your thigh as a wordless promise of _I’m here. I’m here._ I wanted to cry with you, but I didn’t. Your partner mockingly asked if we’d made out while they were out of the room. I wanted to hit them.

A few tears fall from my eyes and into the snow.

Drip-drip.

I remember having my head on your lap in a club, my legs dangling off the arm of the couch. Your arm was across my collarbone, fingers brushing my hair back off my forehead. It relaxed me, so my eyelids fluttered. You thought that meant I was sleepy. I was not.

I stop and look up at a police van in front of me. The door slides open, and two men in uniform step out.

I feel them give me a once-over.

“Have you been drinking, sir?”

I look between them, blank.

“Oh. No.”

I feel they’re not quite satisfied with such a concise reply.

“Where is your coat? Did you leave it somewhere?”

I look down at myself and my t-shirt, it registering somewhere in the back of my mind that it’s likely around -15 degrees right now.

“I just came out like this.”

I do realize that must sound odd.

“Could we see your ID?”

I comply, or I think I’m going to comply, but I didn’t bring an ID with me, only my keys.

They settle for my personal identification number that I have memorized and enter it into the system. They look at the screen and my face, then say they will drive me home and have me direct them. I’m sat on the back next to a sturdy police woman.

I zone out, looking at my faint reflection on the window to my left, chocolate waves looking rotten.

My arms are vaguely starting to warm up.

I want to tear them apart.

I want to take my razors from my drawer and dig them into my skin until I see fat bubbles. I want to stare at it gape open, the blood flow out from me. The filth beneath the skin crawl out and wash off me.

I want to burn my skin until it turns black, blistering and breaking open. I want it to corrode me to the core, until there’s nothing left of me.

I remember laying on the backseat, my head by your thigh. I reached for your arm to wrap it around my waist under my own. You asked to make sure if you weren’t harassing me because I was blasted. You wanted to make sure I was okay with it, but now I’m not sure if you were. I felt like I took advantage of you.

I want to mutilate my genitals. If I mutilate them enough, will I finally never feel aroused again? If I mutilate them enough, will nobody fear me the way I fear some people?

I don’t want to have to touch myself ever again, yet I know I’ll do it again.

I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable with me for this kind of a reason.

I want to gut myself and paint walls with this filth, then set fire to it.

I wonder what the woman sitting next to me would do, or think, if she knew what I’m thinking right now. Would they still just drive me home?

The van stops and the police people hand me a soft reflector with the police mascot on it. I bid them a thank you and step out, heading towards my room.

And I walk.

And I’m back on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling.

Now there is no you.


End file.
